A Little Favor For Francine
by rankamateur
Summary: Remember in The Triumvirate when Francine was shot by the hit man, Jepperd? This is just a little followup.
1. For Francine

A Little Favor For Francine  
  
by rankamateur  
  
Remember in "The Triumvirate" when Francine was shot by the hit man, Jepperd? This is just a little follow-up.  
  
Scarecrow and Mrs. King belong to Warner Bros. and Shoot The Moon Enterprises, Ltd.  
  
References to "The Triumvirate", written by Robert Bielak; "Fast Food For Thought", written by Robert Gilmer and "Life Of The Party", written by Stephen Hattman  
  
Thanks to buffy--again--for her help and suggestions. All remaining mistakes are mine.  
  
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"Francine was shot? She was actually shot and wounded?" Amanda looked from her boss, Billy Melrose, to her partner, Lee Stetson.  
  
"Yeah," Lee nodded, "shot and wounded before she could get out of the suite."  
  
"Oh my gosh!" Amanda wrung her hands. "That's awful. I feel just terrible . . . "  
  
"Don't worry, Amanda," Billy reassured her. "It's not serious, just a flesh wound. But they wanted to keep her there for a day or two, so it was decided that she'd have her annual Agency physical, as long as she's in the hospital anyway. Actually, this is more like a *bi-annual* physical. She's not gettin' out of it this time."  
  
"Oh, that's a relief. I hate to think of Francine getting hurt while she was stuck protecting me. I'll have to go by and thank her."  
  
"Good idea," Billy concurred. "She's in Galilee General, room 715. And as long as you're going--there's a favor you could do for me. Ahh, she asked if I could stop by her apartment and pick up a robe and nightie. Ahh, something in blue . . . . She doesn't like the gowns the hospital provides. Not her style," he looked down at the floor. "I've got a full schedule today, so it's going to be hard to find the time to do this for her. Amanda, do you think . . . "  
  
"Of course, Sir. I'd be happy to pick those up for you--for her."  
  
"Good." Billy reached into his coat pocket. "Here are her keys." He held one apart from the others. "This one is for the front door."  
  
Amanda took the key ring and smiled at her partner. "Umm, Lee . . . "  
  
"Sorry, Amanda. I wish I could go with you, but I've got to meet a contact in half an hour."  
  
"A contact? Maybe I should go with you and back you up." Truth be told, she'd rather go with Lee than go see Francine.  
  
"No, no. That's not necessary. This contact is an old friend and we're meeting in a very public place. There's no danger. You go on and take care of your little errand. I'll be fine." The warmth of his smile was reflected in his eyes, as he looked down at her. He took her hand and then immediately released it, when he realized that the blinds on the windows of Billy's office were wide open. "You, ahh, you go on ahead and I'll see you later."  
  
"Okay. But you be careful. See you later, Sir."  
  
"Bye, Amanda." Billy sat down at his desk and watched as she walked through the bullpen and out the glass doors.  
  
------------------  
  
Amanda turned in her badge, exchanged good-byes with Mrs. Martson and left the building. It was nice to be out in the bright sunshine.  
  
Driving away from The Agency, Amanda decided that she had better stop by her own home first and pick up something to put Francine's things in. She had a garment bag that should work just fine.  
  
With the boys in school and her mother out, probably shopping, it took only a few minutes to retrieve the bag and get back on the road.  
  
---------------------------------------------------------  
  
A short time later, she arrived in the up-scale neighborhood where Francine's apartment building was located. Luckily, she found a parking place close by.  
  
Amanda turned the key and opened the door with no small amount of trepidation. After all, she had never actually been invited into Francine's home. Stepping into the entry, she could see the living and dining rooms. The apartment seemed to be a little smallish, but tastefully and expensively furnished. Of course, Amanda preferred the warm, homey Colonial style of her own home to this modern decor.  
  
She checked the kitchen. It didn't look much used.   
  
And then she found the bedroom. It too, while not large, seemed to have come from the pages of *Homes Of The Rich And Famous*. The dressing table held an array of unpronounceable French perfumes in small crystal containers. The accessories--mirror, brush, combs and such, probably were imported too.  
  
Well, she hadn't come here to do an inventory. She had a purpose.  
  
'WOW!'   
  
Amanda was aware that her co-worker had a collection of designer originals, but opening the louvered doors and looking in--she was sure Francine's closet must resemble a small corner of Paris. That expensive, elegant, tres chic corner where The House Of Dior was located! She could easily imagine the hangers conversing in French. Not that she would have understood them, of course.   
  
She picked out a silk nightgown in a delicate shade of blue and an exquisite matching peignoir. There was a pair of slippers, in the same shade of blue. Not much like the plain, practical pair that Amanda had at home. These had two inch heels and a kind of fuzzy little decorative doohickey. They reminded her of something the wealthy heroine in an old movie from the 1930s might wear. And they didn't look very comfortable, either.  
  
"Oh well, I'll just take these and see if they meet with madame's approval." Amanda joked to herself. Or to the French-speaking hangers.  
  
-----------------------------------------  
  
Francine lay back on the pillows, eyes closed, only half listening to the murmur of dialog from the TV. A documentary on the Silicon Valley, or something equally boring, she thought.  
  
Her leg didn't hurt too much, as long as she was careful. She had taken a bullet from an internationally known hit-man--who was after Amanda King.  
  
'Unbelievable!'   
  
She could picture herself getting shot while saving the President of the United States or maybe the First Lady. Or even the Ambassador from one of America's close allies. But all this discomfort and inconvenience for Amanda? A housewife who wouldn't have been hanging around The Agency, if it hadn't been for Lee Stetson.  
  
'Handing an important package to a stranger. Just because it worked once.' She would never do anything like that!  
  
Of course, if pressed, she would admit, however grudgingly, that Amanda *had* come in handy on occasion--well, on several occasions. At least as far as saving the great Scarecrow's posterior was concerned. It seemed to be the general consensus around the office that he was a better, more careful agent since he had been working with Mrs. King.  
  
And she had done a pretty good job when the two of them were working undercover as maids. In fact, Amanda had shown a level of courage and commitment that had taken Francine by surprise. Then there was the time they were locked in a meat freezer. After getting past some initial friction due mainly, she admitted, to a flash of bad memories on her part, Francine had to give credit to Amanda for joking and keeping up their spirits. She had to laugh. There they were, naming their favorite forms of chocolate while the room was getting colder and colder and their oxygen supply was being used up rapidly!  
  
So maybe, perhaps, taken altogether, Amanda King was worth taking a bullet for. Certainly as worthwhile as taking a slug for Ephraim Beamon. Taking a slug? She'd like to give him a slug!  
  
Besides, this whole episode had got her time off, tons of flowers and get-well cards and an official Commendation for her Agency file.  
  
She smiled to herself. She could live with the situation. Well, with everything except this declasse gown. She wished Billy would hurry up and bring her own nightie and robe from home. Maybe some slippers too. These paper slip-on things didn't keep her feet warm and besides, they were so . . . so. Words failed her.  
  
Just as she was drifting off to sleep, there was a light knock and the door opened slowly. But the face that appeared didn't belong to Billy Melrose. It was Amanda.  
  
"Hi, Francine. How do you feel? Can I get you something to drink? Do you want a different channel on the TV? Are they feeding you OK? I have a nightie and robe and slippers. I hope they're the ones you wanted."  
  
'Good grief!' She ground her teeth. 'If I had my gun . . . . we might be sharing a room.'   
  
"Amanda! Billy should have called and said you were coming over instead of him. Well, let's see what you brought."  
  
Unzipping the garment bag, Amanda carefully removed the fragile contents and laid them out on the end of the bed. She felt rather like a lady-in-waiting to some princess or something.  
  
Francine let out a sigh of relief as she reached down and fingered the shimmery material. Perfect. Just what she would have chosen.  
  
"Francine, I just heard this morning about you getting shot. And I just want to say how sorry I am and how grateful I am. I mean, if you hadn't told me to get out of there . . . he might have shot me too. Or me instead . . . " Amanda stumbled to a halt. Her voice catching in her throat and her eyes filling with tears. She had a sudden image of the day before--when she was handcuffed to a post, waiting for the lethal injection that would end her life. If Lee and Mr. Melrose hadn't shown up when they did . . . . She forced herself to push aside that terrible memory and to focus on the present and the thanks she felt she owed her colleague. She cleared her throat and patted Francine's arm.  
  
"All right, Amanda, don't get all sloppy and sentimental on me. I was just doing my job. Nothing more. Watching out for a civilian. That's what we agents do."  
  
"I know." Francine had misunderstood that unbidden display of emotion, but that was okay. "I know it was your job, but I'm grateful anyway. You'll just have to put up with it. So, if there's nothing else I can do for you or get for you, I'd better be going. I promised to help Philip with his history assignment."  
  
"No, there's nothing, so go ahead. And, Amanda . . . "  
  
She stopped in the doorway, "What?"  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Amanda smiled and let the door shut behind her. '--just doin' her job--nothing more--. Sounds like Lee used to. Heck, maybe one day she'll change her mind too.'  
  
end 


	2. CyclopsReturns

The Return Of Cyclops

The Return Of Cyclops

by POV, the Omniscient

Scarecrow and Mrs. King belong to Warner Bros. and Shoot The Moon Enterprises, Ltd.

References to "Reach For The Sky" written by Ron Landry and Tom Beiner

Time: May 1987

Cyclops strikes again. And their latest bit of international intrigue puts Lee and Amanda in danger.

This story takes advantage of the ambivalence of the series as to just what Dotty knows about the identity of Amanda's boss, Mr. Melrose.

PG--Just like PAX

Thanks to Buffy for doing all the hard work--again. The left over mistakes are mine.

--

The dark-haired man in the Armani suit sat behind a large, beautifully crafted mahogany desk. He smiled as he leaned back into the soft leather chair. Lacing his fingers behind his head, he closed his eyes and smiled. It was all his now. With Chairman, 'former chairman,' he corrected himself, Charles Caanan out of the way and with the untimely fatal heart attacked suffered by his old friend, Lawrence Montgomery, he was the next in line to take over as the first among equals of Cyclops.

The two newest members of the Board of Directors, both his proteges, would support him in any endeavor he might propose. At least for a while--until their own greed and ambition overtook loyalty and friendship and they turned on him as he had on his old friend and mentor, Larry.

That assassin had done the job perfectly. Montgomery's own doctor had been convinced, given Larry's medical history, that his death was caused by heart failure.

It was handy to have contacts in the Company. Especially former employees who were free-lancing. Perhaps the man might be useful in the future. There was a little venture he had in mind. One that might require the services of a cold blooded killer. One could never be sure about such things.

Too bad that the Electronic Transfer of money to Cyclops accounts hadn't worked out. But, no use crying over spilt dollars, even a billion of them. After all, that failure had cost Caanan his reputation, his position and his freedom.

Swiveling his chair, he looked out the large window of his office. It was a beautiful, late spring day in DC. His tenure as Chairman of the Board of Cyclops was off to an auspicious beginning. Life was good.

--

"Did you hear? After a year and a half of stalling by the best legal minds money could buy, Charles Caanan is finally on his way to a federal prison!" Lee sat down in the chair in front of the desk and took a sip of coffee.

"I heard. And now that it's been proven that Cyclops does exist," Billy didn't even try to stop that smug little I told you so kind of smile, from forming, "we, and a few other government agencies, will be keeping a close eye on it and on its members."

"Do we know who the current top dogs are?"

"Well, you and Amanda were able to ID the ones at that meeting and we have a good idea who the two new ones are."

"Yeah? Who?"

"Thomas Barton and Roger Culver. They work as vice-presidents of Advanced Agricultural Strategies, Inc. That's a subsidiary of Trevor Norton Truesdale, LTD. Also known as T.N.T., LTD. Truesdale has a bunch of legitimate companies, any of which can serve as a perfect front for his illegal, Cyclops connected activities."

"Well, knowing who the players are and where they hang out gives us a definite edge."

"I want you and Amanda to keep an eye on them." Billy handed him a folder. "Here's what we have on them so far. Whatever other cases you may be involved in--keep checking your sources for any rumors about Truesdale and his associates."

"Will do. See ya later."

--

At the sound of the Q-Bureau door opening, Amanda looked up from the file she had been studying. "Hi, sweetheart."

Lee locked the door and dropped the folder he was carrying on her desk. Then he reached down and pulled Amanda to her feet and began kissing his wife--the way he'd been wanted to kiss her since about five minutes after she had left his apartment the night before.

"Wow! I was going to ask what Mr. Melrose wanted, but now I'm not so sure I care."

"Who's Mr. Melrose?" Lee murmured, as he initiated another show stopping kiss.

When they finally pulled apart and she seemed to catch her breath, Amanda answered. "If you give me a minute I might be able to remember. Oh yeah. He's our boss. The one who hands out our assignments. So, what does he have for us?"

"Nothing--exactly. We're supposed to finish up the Forbes thing . . . "

"It's down to just a few loose ends," she interrupted.

"Right. As I was saying, we finish that and go on to the Peters case, gun smuggling, but at the same time, he wants us to keep an eye on--Cyclops. Remember them?"

"Are you kidding? Secret floors, high-tech bank robbery, missing Jamie's play, female hit men . . . "

"Isn't that an oxymoron?" Lee asked innocently.

"Oh, I suppose it is, but you said yourself she was a vicious killer. And the whole thing almost cost Mr. Melrose his life." She shivered. "I still can picture him strapped to a chair. And the room was fillin' up with Tetra . . . .Tetramon . . . ."

"Tetramonoxide."

"Right. That stuff."

"Yeah, but thanks to your great instincts, we found him in time." He paused and looked into her eyes for just a moment. "Anyway, now that everybody in the intelligence community accepts the fact that Cyclops is real and a real threat, Billy wants us to keep track of them. To, ahh, try and anticipate any new little scams they might be starting." Lee pointed to the folder he had dropped on Amanda's desk. "This is what we have so far. You go ahead and look it over and then you can fill me in."

"Oh. Okay." She sounded just a little bit annoyed.

"Hey," he grinned, "you're better at digesting the details and giving a perfect synopsis."

"And you're pretty good at turning a chore into a compliment." She couldn't help but smile back at him.

--

Tom Barton and his business associate, Roger Culver, sat across the highly polished desk, looking expectantly at their boss, Trevor Truesdale.

"Now, I want you two to use your contacts in the Department of Agriculture to obtain some export licenses for A.A.S. This is what we want to ship." He handed a list to Tom.

"Let's see, ammonium nitrate, ammonium sulfate; potassium nitrate; sodium nitrate, methylphosphonofluoridate, sulfuric acid, castor . . . " His voice trailed off as he continued reading the list. "This stuff can be turned into fertilizers, but with a few changes in the components and the way they're processed--they could be made into chemical weapons--Sarin Ricin . . . Binary poisons even . Not to mention some pretty impressive explosives!"

"Yes, couldn't they," Truesdale responded evenly. "I'm glad to see that you didn't sleep through all those classes in Chemical Engineering, Tom. And would you care to guess how many customers are lined up, eager to pay for those weapons?"

"Enough to bring in a nice profit for Advanced Agriculture, and T.N.T., I would imagine." Roger nodded his head approvingly.

"Actually, a profit for all our associates in Cyclops. We'll need Martin's ships. And Conroy's contacts. He knows how to get in touch with buyers, not only in this hemisphere, but all over the world. People who want to make a political statement--or take over a government." That was an ambition Truesdale could empathize with--and did. On a daily basis.

"So," he continued, "we . . . I'll present the proposal at the next board meeting. That's, ahh," he consulted his desk calendar, "a week from Thursday. I want the licenses and all the components ready to go by then, which doesn't give you much time." Like the proverbial Oriental potentate, he gave commands and expected them to be carried out--no excuses.

"Where are they to be shipped?" Roger inquired.

"Here," Truesdale spread a map out on the desk. "Gelderland. Our friend Andreas Krem is eager for his cut of the deal."

"Gelderland? That's barely a dot on the map. That guy Krem is a joke." Tom chuckled.

"Well, I'm not laughing and neither should you." He fixed Barton with a withering glance. "Gelderland goes back about two hundred and fifty years--to the old Dutch West Indies Company. Now it's a sovereign nation with a seat in the UN. Krem is the head of state--and he's ours."

"Sorry, Mr. Truesdale. I guess I hadn't grasped the big picture." His contrition was genuine. Born of fear, as much as anything else. He was well aware of just how ruthless his employer could be.

"Fine. Get to work. Both of you."

"Yes sir," they said in unison, as they rose from their chairs and turned to leave the office.

"Nice going, Tom," Roger said under his breath. "I'm sure the old man will remember that."

Tom grimaced. He too, was sure Truesdale would remember.

--

Jack Dobkins sat behind his desk at the Department of Agriculture and studied the request from Advanced Agricultural Strategies, Inc. for various export licenses for chemicals and machinery used to make agricultural products, such as fertilizer. Of course, he was well aware that some of these same elements could be used to make chemical weapons. There was something about this request that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up--something was just not right. Before he called in the two men whose names appeared on the forms, Thomas Barton and Roger Culver, he decided that it couldn't hurt to run this by someone in Intelligence. Someone who would know about terrorists and chemical weapons. He had an experience with just such a person, eight or nine years ago. A man who worked for The Agency.

'Let's see,' thumbing through an old address book, he found the name he was looking for--Lee Stetson. 'I think I'll just give Mr. Stetson a call and see what he makes of all this.' Jack reached for the phone and dialed the number of IFF.

--

After sitting for about ten minutes at a table in the back of the not too crowded restaurant, Jack stood and extended his hand to the man he recognized as Agent Stetson. He was accompanied by a very attractive brunette.

They didn't move in the same circles, but Jack had friends in government who had contacts in the intelligence community. He had heard stories over the years, about the Scarecrow; his success as an agent and his prowess with the ladies.

'Well,' he thought, 'apparently, Lee always could pick 'em. Some things never change.'

"Hey Jack, good to see ya. You look the same."

The two men shook hands. "Oh yeah. Except for a few more pounds and a little less hair," Jack returned.

"This is my partner, Amanda--Amanda King."

"How do you do, Miss King."

"It's Mrs. King, actually, but please, call me Amanda."

"Thanks, and call me Jack. Sit down and I'll get the waiter over here." Jack couldn't help but notice the look on Lee's face as he helped Mrs. . . . Amanda out of her coat and into the chair. 'How 'bout that,' he thought, 'maybe some things do change. Old Scarecrow looks like he's pretty serious about this one.'

"Have you ever heard of Gelderland?" He looked from Lee to Amanda.

"No," Lee replied, looking a bit puzzled. Can't say that I have. Why?"

"I'm not surprised. It's not exactly a major player on the international scene. Anyway," he reached into the briefcase that sat on the floor at his feet, and pulled out a sheaf of papers. "These are requests from an American company for Export licenses."

Lee took the papers and studied them for a few minutes. "I'm no chemist, but I think some of this stuff could be turned into chemical weapons--given the right equipment. Of course, this isn't my area of expertise."

"Well, it's my area, and a lot of this material, in the right--or wrong--combinations, could be made into weapons. Pretty deadly ones, at that."

"Wow!" Amanda looked embarrassed as both men turned towards her. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"That's okay." Jack grinned. "WOW is absolutely right!"

"Who wants this stuff?" Lee handed the papers back to Jack.

"Advanced Agricultural Strategies, Inc. Two of their top men, both vice-presidents, made the requests. Their names are Thomas Barton and Roger Culver. Ever heard of them?"

Lee and Amanda looked at each other. "Oh, yeah," they answered.

"Anything on that list that's illegal?"

"Not in and of itself. But in those amounts, for a country the size of my uncle's back yard . . . well, it's suspicious, damn suspicious."

"But are they breaking any laws?" Lee pressed.

Jack rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "There are things there that we would never authorize for an unfriendly government. And, there are things on that list that we don't allow to go to countries which are on a rather hush-hush list of governments who are suspected of selling anything they can get a hold of, to the highest bidder. Gelderland is on that list."

"Well, they haven't committed a crime by asking. I think you need to go along with these guys and give A.A.S. the permits. But maybe you'd better talk it over with your superior at the Department first."

"Ahh, in this case, I am the superior. But I would be breaking the law myself."

"Congratulations. You must have had a few promotions over the years."

Jack nodded.

"We can make it an official Agency request," Lee continued, "a little sting operation. Maybe you can play hard to get--let them know your cooperation comes at a price."

"I don't know the current bribery rates for U.S. Ag officials."

"Try a hundred grand," Lee smiled. "You can always come down a few thousand, if necessary."

Jack took a sip from his water glass. "All right. I'll do it. But I want that Agency request in writing before I go ahead and meet with these guys--which will be tomorrow afternoon, by the way."

"You got it." Lee lifted his glass and the two touched glasses in a little toast.

"Waiter," Jack motioned to the young man who had been hovering in the background. "I'm ready to order. How about you two?"

What none of the three realized was that their conversation had been observed, though not overheard, by a small, balding man named Bolton. Who just happened to work for T.N.T., Ltd.--in their security department. He was familiar with many in the intelligence community of Washington. He certainly knew the face of Lee Stetson and of his partner, Mrs. King. He didn't know the man with them, but as soon as he developed the pictures he had surreptitiously taken, he was sure that he could discover the man's identity.

--

"Well, gentlemen, I have authorized your requests for these items," Jack handed a folder to Tom Barton. "But, I'm afraid I can't help you with these," he held out a second folder, with was snatched by Roger Culver.

"What do you mean, you can't help us with these," Roger demanded. "These are some of the most important, indispensable components. Without these, our client may just cancel the whole deal. Our company could lose millions!"

"Sorry, you must know the rules."

"Yeess," Tom drew the word out as he thought quickly, "we do, but rules were made to be broken, weren't they?" he asked suggestively.

"Maybe we could find a way to make it worth your while. Maybe a little deposit in your Swiss bank account. What do ya think?" Roger put in.

"I don't have a Swiss bank account." Jack brushed an imaginary speck of dust from the top of his desk.

"We could fix that," Tom said, as he and Roger exchanged glances.

"Maybe. But I could be risking my career. It would have to be very worth my while. Say one hundred thousand dollars?"

"Glad we understand each other." Tom nodded. "The deposit will be made later today. I'll send the account information to you by messenger before the close of business this afternoon. I'm sure you will have the licenses ready for him."

The three men rose and Jack shook hands with each of the vice-presidents in turn. "Good day, gentlemen. A pleasure doing business with you."

"Are you going to give that clown a hundred thousand?" Roger asked, as they walked towards the elevators.

"Are you kidding? I'll dummy up the bank account number and deposit slip. Then I'll send my old buddy Roscoe around to take care of Mr. Jack Dobkins. He'll do the job for half that amount!"

"You know a hit man?" Roger was incredulous.

Tom just smiled.

"You've been hangin' out with Truesdale too much!"

--

Jack was preoccupied as he sauntered through the quiet residential streets near his home in Alexandria. He was thinking about all this business with Advanced Agriculture and getting involved with The Agency. In his musings he imagined himself as a character--albeit a minor one--in a James Bond film. He didn't hear the panel truck speeding towards him until it was too late. The few on-lookers watched in horror as his body was hurled through the air, landing in a crumpled heap near the gutter. For Jack Dobkins, the movie was over.

--

"Oh my gosh!" Amanda exclaimed.

"What," Lee leaned over her shoulder to get a better view of the newspaper she was reading.

"Killed in a hit and run accident last night, Jack Dobkins, long time employee of the U.S. Agriculture Department." Amanda handed the paper to her husband, so he could read the short article for himself.

"What do you think?"

"I think this has got Cyclops written all over it! Damn! We should have been protecting Jack . . . "

"Poor man. But, sweetheart, how could you know they'd work that fast? He only met with those two from A.A.S. day before yesterday."

"I should have known. I just should have. Well, all we can do now it nail these creeps--for Jack."

--

Brad Carson picked up the remote and turned down the sound emanating from the two hundred watt speakers of his very expensive home theater system. He got the phone before the third ring. "Yes."

"Carson? It's Truesdale. I've just had a most disturbing report from one of my security men. The Ag Department man--the one who met with an untimely death yesterday--had another meeting. Shortly before he died, he was photographed talking with Lee Stetson and his partner. A year or so ago, they were involved in thwarting an important operation of ours. Now, I don't want Stetson or his lovely associate interfering in a deal I have going now."

"So, what do you want me to do?"

"Take them out--both of them. And soon. I've got a meeting with my board of directors coming up shortly. I'm sure they will approve this operation and the goods will be shipped out by the end of the week."

"The fee for Stetson and his friend will be high. Higher than for Montgomery. We're talkin' two federal agents here."

"I'll double what I paid you for Larry Montgomery. Just get the job done. Neat and clean, like last time."

"Okay. Have the money sent to my bank account in the Cayman's. Today."

"It'll be taken care of. Goodbye."

"Bye." Brad Carson looked a bit grim. Take out Lee Stetson and Amanda King? The price was right but, he owed Stetson, big time. Like for his life. In a joint CIA-Agency operation back in '81, Lee had taken out a KGB operative who had managed to get behind Brad.

After that near miss, Brad had quit the Company and gone into business for himself. He had done pretty well too. He certainly lived a lot better than he had been able to on an agent's salary. He had done many things for money. Some he was ashamed of--or would have been if he had allowed himself to dwell on them. But there were limits. And he was getting tired. Tired of doing other people's dirty work. Maybe there was a way to repay an old debt and still take Truesdale's money.

--

Lee and Amanda both jumped a little, startled when the phone on Lee's desk rang, loudly, in the otherwise quiet office.

"Yeah, Stetson."

"Who is this?" The voice on the other end of the line was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

"Why can't you tell me over the phone?"

"How much?"

"And how do I know you really have any information I'd want?"

"Okay. When and where?" Lee wrote down the address.

"Six o'clock doesn't give us much time! And the traffic is worse on Fridays."

"All right. We'll be there." Lee hung up the phone and stood, taking his jacket from the back of the chair. "Let's go."

"Where are we going and why?" Amanda pulled her purse from the drawer of her desk and picked up her jacket.

"That was a Mr. Jones. Says he has information on, what I assume is the Peters case. Somebody smuggling guns to Central America. He wants us to meet him here." He handed a scrap of paper to Amanda.

"You don't know this person, obviously. Why do you think you can trust him?"

"He seems to know Auggie and T.P. That's how he got may name and number. So, I guess the only way to find out for sure is go meet him. But we'll be careful."

"Right," his partner agreed. "Maybe I should call my mother and tell her I'll be a little late."

"Naw. This shouldn't take long. You can call her after we're finished and tell her I'm takin' you out for a nice steak dinner. How's that sound?"

"Great. You're on."

Forty minutes later, Lee eased the Corvette into a parking space about a half a block from the office building where they were to contact Mr. Jones. Actually, they were to meet him in the alley behind the building.

"Lee, I don't like this. Too many places for somebody to hide. That dumpster--those boxes . . . "

"I don't like it much either, but if this guy's legit--we could wrap up this case a whole lot sooner. Just stay alert."

"I am alert!" She grabbed Lee's arm and held on with a death grip.

Just at that moment, there was a slight rustling sound, which seemed to come from some cartons that lined the wall of the building. Then Lee felt the muzzle of a pistol being pushed into his back. 'Where the hell did that come from?'

"Okay, Stetson, let's have the gun--easy."

"What the . . . Mr. Jones, I presume?" Lee raised his hands and felt his weapon being removed from his grasp.

"For now, yeah, Mr. Jones. Put your hands behind your back."

Lee complied and then felt a pair of handcuffs being fastened on his wrists.

"Now you and your lady friend walk towards those steps and then down them--to that door. And I warn you, Stetson, I've got my gun aimed at Mrs. King."

"Oh, so you know her name too."

"Just a minute." Mr. Jones leaned around Lee and unlocked the door. "Go in and turn to your left. And then on down the hallway."

Following orders, the three soon arrived at a large, heavy looking door. "Open it up." Brad nodded to Amanda, who reached out and turned the knob.

She entered the room, followed by Lee and their captor. Lee turned and looked at the man. In the well lit room he recognized Mr. Jones instantly. No wonder the voice had sounded familiar!

"Well, well. If it isn't my old buddy Brad Carson. How'r things, Brad? I've heard some interesting stories about you--since you left the Company."

"Nothing but rumors. Let's concentrate on the present, shall we? You've been stepping on the toes of some very important, very powerful people, Stetson. I'm afraid that's got to stop."

"And you've been hired to stop me?"

"Yup. You and your partner here."

"Amanda's not in on this deal. Let her go!"

"Oh come on, Lee. I know better than that. She's your partner and has been for several years now. I'm afraid I'm going to have to take care of both of you."

"Important?--Powerful? It's Cyclops you're talkin' about. Brad, listen to me. The deal they're workin' on is dangerous--for everybody. They're shipping chemicals and the equipment to turn them into weapons, to Gelderland. The guy who runs that country is in it for the money. He's happy to cooperate with Cyclops. And those weapons will be sold to the highest bidder--no matter how crazy he is or who he wants to hurt. And two of the Cyclops people, guys named Barton and Culver, probably had a friend who worked at USDA murdered--made to look like a hit and run. Come on, man . . . . There must be something that you don't want to be involved in, be responsible for! And maybe you've forgotten it, but I saved your life a few years back." Lee waited for an answer, but all he got was a poke in the ribs.

"Sit down over there, on those boxes," Carson commanded. I'm going now. Forget about getting out this door and there are no windows, of course. You'll have to accept my hospitality--for the time being. After I'm gone, you might want to check out that box over there," he gestured towards a medium sized box near the wall. "The one with the two X's on it. And there's a lavatory through that door. Goodbye, Stetson, Mrs. King. I doubt that we'll be meeting again." With that, Brad left the room, shutting the door and locking it with the large padlock Lee had seen hanging on the latch when they had entered the room.

"Let's check that box." They walked over to it and Amanda pulled the cardboard flaps open. "Hey, look. Right on top. There's a little key. I bet it's for the handcuffs."

It was. "Now we don't need your lock pick."

"Just as well, " a somewhat chagrined Lee responded. "I don't think I brought one with me." As soon as he was free, he rubbed his wrists and then started rummaging through the box. "There's food in here. And blankets. A flashlight. I guess in case those fluorescent bulbs give out before we get out of here."

"Do you think he's going to come back and kill us?" Amanda asked, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.

"No, honey, no. Come here." He put his arms around her and pulled her close. "Look, if he wanted us dead, he could have shot us when we first got here. Don't forget, I did save his life and maybe he's grateful. Besides, if he wanted us dead--why did he leave the key so I could get loose? Why leave food and blankets?"

"But, Lee, there's a huge, heavy door with the hinges on the outside. It's secured with a giant padlock--also on the outside. There's no lock to pick. There are no windows." She pointed up towards the ceiling. "Those vents up there are too small for even a two year old to get through. It's like a . . . a tomb."

"It looks like we've got two, maybe three days worth of food, a bathroom. I bet it has soap and running water and towels. What more could you ask?"

Amanda returned his grin. "How 'bout a change of clothes?" She ran her fingers along the faint shadow of stubble on his cheek. "And an electric shaver." The attempt at humor faded, along with her smile. "Maybe he's not coming back and he's just going to let us starve to death."

"This building is only empty on the weekends when the offices are closed. Somebody'll be here on Monday and get us out. Hey, trust me. It's gonna be okay."

"Okay, I do trust you. You know that." She gave him a not too convincing smile and then reached up and kissed him.

--

Time had dragged by. What seemed like forever was actually only a few hours later.

"What are you doing?" Amanda finally asked. She had been watching her husband walking around the room, communing with the boxes.

"I'm locating the ingredients for our bed. Do you want a twin, a double or a king size?"

"Well," she contemplated the choices. "a twin would be cozy, but maybe a double would be more practical."

"Practical! Okay, give me a hand here. We'll need this one and those two . . . "

In a few minutes of team work they had gathered together enough sturdy cartons to form a flat surface about the size of a double bed.

"Spread that blanket over the top and then we've got this other one to use as a cover."

"There," Amanda surveyed their work. "Doesn't look too bad. What about pillows--or a pillow, anyway?"

Lee considered the problem for a moment. "How about some of that bubble-pac stuff?"

"That might work," Amanda allowed, somewhat skeptically. "What if we accidentally start poppin' it while we're sleeping? Never mind."

--

"International Federal Film," the cheery voice answered.

"This is Mrs. Dotty West. My daughter, Mrs. Amanda King, is employed by your firm. Now I want to speak either to her or to her boss, Mr. Stetson!"

A pause. "I'm sorry ma'am, but both Mrs. King and Mr. Stetson are out of the office."

"Then I want to talk to their boss."

"I'll check and see if Mr. Melrose is in today."

"I want to talk to him even if you have to call him at home!"

The phone on Billy's desk rang--louder than usual, it seemed.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Melrose, there's a call on the IFF line from a woman who's demanding to talk to either Mrs. King or Mr. Stetson. They're not in today, of course. I thought maybe somebody's checkin' their IFF cover."

"Okay, I'll take it." Billy, sighed. He didn't need any more complications or challenges today.

After a few minutes of drumming her fingers on the counter top, Dotty heard someone come on the line.

"This is William Melrose. How can I help you?"

"Mr. . . . . Melrose? This is Dotty West, Amanda's mother. She was gone all day Friday and she didn't come home Friday night. Now it's almost Saturday night and I STILL haven't heard from her. Usually, but not always, when she goes on location, she calls and lets me know but I haven't heard a word and I'm getting very worried and this is just one too many times! Now where is she? When will she be back?" Dotty's tone was angry.

"Hold on a moment please, Mrs. West, and I'll check with my secretary." Billy put the call on hold. This was all he needed. The perfect end to a perfect week! He dialed an extension. "Francine, where the hell are Lee and Amanda? Her mother's on the phone and she's about ready to call out the militia!"

"I don't know where there are. I think they were going to meet one of Lee's snitches Friday night. But how they spend their weekends is a mystery to me. And why they're off when I have to work is a little puzzling too." There was just a hint of sarcasm in her tone.

"Great. Thanks." He gripped the phone tightly and then, after a moments hesitation, punched the button for the line where Amanda's mother waited . . . "Mrs. West, I'm sorry to keep you waiting. They were called upon, quite suddenly, to go on a location shoot for a government documentary."

"Where are they?" Dotty demanded.

'I wish I knew!' "Ahh, this is a project for the Federal Government and I'm afraid it's classified. It's need to know and all the government nonsense. Now, you can rest assured that Amanda is just fine and I'll have her call you the minute this project is wrapped up."

"Very well," Dotty gritted out. "Goodbye."

It was obvious that she was neither satisfied nor happy with the answer.

--

Not twenty minutes later the phone rang again. This time it was Billy's direct line.

"Melrose here."

"Mr. Melrose. I have some information on one of your on-going investigations."

"Who is this and how did you get this number?"

"I have my ways and some old friends--mutual friends. Now just listen. I'm only going to say this once."

Billy hit the button on the tape recorder that was connected to this line. "Go ahead."

"You've dealt with Cyclops before. They're at it again. You need to check for a ship belonging to Lester Martin's Northern Lights Line. It'll be sailing--maybe tonight, but I think more probably tomorrow night. One that's heading for Gelderland with a cargo of chemicals--and the equipment necessary to turn some of those chemicals into weapons. The licenses for the most dangerous stuff were obtained fraudulently. Now you will also want to pick up a free-lance hit-man named Roscoe Ainsley and ask him about the death of Jack Dobkins of the Ag Department. He's the person who okayed the export licenses. Ask Roscoe about Tom Barton and Roger Culver of Advanced Agriculture. I think you know that company is owned by Trevor Truesdale, who happens to be the new head man of Cyclops. One more thing."

There was a rather long pause.

"You should think about getting a court order to exhume the body of Lawrence Montgomery and this time check for traces of Xyloprocaine."

"Why? I thought he died of a heart attack." Billy remembered that it had been Montgomery's personal physician who had made that announcement to the press.

"He might have," the caller laughed sardonically, "given time and left to his own devices. But one of his associates couldn't wait. Ask Truesdale about a very substantial deposit he made to a bank in the Cayman Islands. The First Credit Bank of the Carib. Account number JXB-77-809. It's closed now, but if you can tie Truesdale to a deposit made about three months ago, you may have some leverage when you question him about the death of his old friend and the promotion of his two errand boys, Barton and Culver, to the board of Cyclops."

"Thanks for the tip. But--just how do I know this is all true?"

"You're going to check it out, Melrose. Checking things out is what you do for a living. It's been nice chatting with you. Oh, give my regards to Stetson and Mrs. King when you see them. Goodbye."

The line went dead. Billy turned off the tape recorder and dialed Francine's extension again. They had a lot of work to do.

--

Sweetheart, could you please pacing like that?" Amanda pleaded. "You're making me tired just watching you--and a little crazy too!"

"I'm sorry," Lee stopped in mid-stride, "but we've been locked in here for almost twenty-four hours. I was hoping somebody'd show up before now."

"You said yourself, the offices are closed and the building is empty on the weekends. It'll probably be Monday morning before anyone shows up."

"What are we gonna do for another night in this place--let alone another two nights and a day!" He let out a long breath. His mounting frustration was obvious.

"Well," Amanda suggested, as she fingered the edge of the blanket that covered their temporary accommodations, "we don't have any playing cards, but I can think of one or two other things we could do to pass the time."

Lee smiled broadly as he contemplated those other things, but this was one heckuva way to get some time alone with his beautiful wife. 'Oh well. A good agent makes the best use of all his opportunities . . . '

--

After a second nearly sleepless, although certainly not unpleasant, night, Lee got up from their makeshift bed of boxes and started pacing. "Amanda, it's Sunday morning. I can't just sit here and wait for somebody to show up on Monday morning and let us out!"

"How are we gonna get out?" She stretched and yawned and then sat up. "We've checked all these boxes. They're mostly all office supplies--paper, file folders, pens--no dynamite. Which is what we'd need to blow that huge door open."

Lee was looking up toward the ceiling. "You know, Amanda, I think if we stack some of these cartons up against the wall, I can get up to those vents. I've got . . . ," he fumbled through his pockets, "yeah, here it is--this little utility knife has a screwdriver. I can get the cover off one of those vents and then you can climb through the shaft, find an opening in the hall we came down, kick it out and get down. And then you can find a phone and call for help." He looked very pleased with himself.

"Hold on. Those covers still look awful small to me . . ."

"So are you, darling. You'll fit. I'm sure of it."

It took about ten minutes to prove that Lee was right. He was able to reach the vent, remove the cover and help Amanda squirm into the shaft, clutching the flashlight, which Brad had so thoughtfully provided.

'I'm so glad I wore slacks to work!'

The shaft was larger than Amanda would have guessed, looking at the vent cover. She was able to get up onto her hands and knees, as long as she kept her head down and stayed low. Moving forward was slow going, but she was making progress.

It wasn't too long before she spotted a bit of light up ahead. She was able, with some difficulty and no small amount of discomfort, to turn around, so that she was feet first. Then she scooted down the shaft towards the light. She pushed against the cover with both feet, but it seemed completely unyielding. She kicked against it. Still nothing. She kicked it again and again. Finally, with a strength born of desperation and adrenaline, she was successful. The cover clattered as it hit the cement below. With a bit more twisting and turning, she was able to get over onto her stomach. She slowly let herself down the wall, holding onto the opening with her fingertips, until she was stretched out to her full height. She dangled there for a split second, and then dropped the rest of the way to the cement floor.

Straightening up, she ran down the hall until she came to a stairway, which led up to the lobby of the building. There was bank of public phones. Fumbling through her pockets, she came up with the right change, and dialed the number for IFF.

As soon as they could reach Billy at home, Agent Carlson assured her, a team would be dispatched to come and rescue them.

She made her way back to their basement prison and pounded on the door. "Lee, they're on the way. Hang in there, sweetheart. Just a little longer!"

--

Sitting in Billy Melrose's office with her husband and their boss, and looking out at the familiar hustle and bustle of the bullpen gave Amanda a sense of safety--for the first time in several days.

Lee had finished a short report on their capture and incarceration by Brad Carson.

Then Billy filled in the tired, and somewhat scruffy looking pair, on his calls from Brad--and Dotty West.

"Well, I had a phone call. Actually, I had two calls. One very irate communication from Mrs. West . . . "

"My mother called here?"

"Yes and I promised her that you'd call her as soon as you got back from location."

"Yes, Sir. I'll call her . . . soon. But first, I'd like to hear what happened with Cyclops too."

"Right, Ahh, the second call was from an anonymous man, who I think had to have been Brad Carson. Anyway, he said to check for a ship owned by Lester Martin that was leaving shortly for Gelderland, loaded with chemicals, some of which were illegal, and machinery. He said the export licenses weren't legal. He also suggested we pick up a minor league hit man named Ainsley and ask him about Jack Dobkins' death. Then we should have something to talk to Tom Barton and Roger Culver about. By the way, the Virginia Highway Patrol found a panel truck abandoned--dented--blood stains. They're still running tests, but it looks like it's the one used to kill Dobkins." Billy paused. "His last suggestion was really startling."

"What?" Lee was thoroughly intrigued by all this. It seemed that Brad might have a conscience after all.

He said to get an order to exhume the body of Lawrence Montgomery and look for evidence of Xyloprocaine. Then try and trace a certain bank deposit back to Trevor Truesdale."

"Could you do it? Get the body exhumed and trace the deposit?"

"Not yet, but I've got Legal working on the exhumation and Francine working on the bank deposit."

"What about the shipment of chemicals?" Amanda wanted to know.

"I called U.S. Customs and they stopped the ship from leaving and they're conducting a thorough search of the cargo."

"Good."

"Truesdale must have hired Brad to get eliminate Montgomery and then to get rid of us."

"Right," Amanda concurred, "and instead, he just tried to keep us incommunicado for the weekend."

"You're damn lucky he hired Carson and not some other assassin who wouldn't have been grateful for past favors!"

"Amen to that, Billy."

"I wonder if either Barton or Culver knows about Montgomery being murdered?"

"I don't know--yet." Billy shrugged.

"When you have enough to pick up Truesdale, I want to be there."

"I think you should be there, Scarecrow."

"If we can get Truesdale, Barton, Culver and the guy who owns the shipping line--maybe Cyclops will be out of business."

"Maybe so, Amanda. Let's hope so." For Billy, that would finally close the book on the death of his old friend at the hands of the Cyclops organization.

--

Soon, Lee had joined all the other available agents, and was on the phone to his sources--trying to get a lead on the whereabouts of one Roscoe Ainsley.

Bob Conway, the newest member of Lee's family, who happened to be a bartender at a seedy little establishment in Maryland, had just the information they needed. Roscoe had been in for a couple of drinks the night before and had mentioned he was staying at a local motel. Just for a day or two, while he waited for final payment for some job he had done, and then he planned a long vacation.

Billy and the other team members gathered in one of the Field Section conference rooms. Lee filled them in on his conversation with Bob.

"Great. Let's go!" Amanda was on her feet.

"Lee, you're exhausted and so's Amanda. Why not wait here--or better yet, go home and get some rest. Let us handle this."

"No way, Billy! If it hadn't been for me, Jack would still be alive. I owe it to him to get this guy."

"Oh brother. And what about your mother, Amanda? Aren't you going to call her?"

Amanda hesitated, guilt written across her face. "Umm, I will--after we get Ainsley."

Lee looked at her and started to disagree.

"If I call her she'll want me to come home right away. And I want to be there when you arrest this man."

"Amanda, you should go home . . . "

"No. This is our case and I'm gonna stay with it till it's wrapped up."

Lee and Billy both knew that look. "Let's go," Lee held out his hand.

--

Three plain Agency vehicles and one silver Corvette quietly converged on the Waterview Motel. Two agents questioned the desk clerk, who supplied the number of the unit in which the wanted man was staying. The agents quickly and unobtrusively surrounded the little cabin, which was set off by itself.

"Roscoe Ainsley--this is The Agency. You are surrounded. Come out with your hands up!"

No answer. No movement from inside the cabin.

Lee and Amanda were crouched behind some bushes near the back door. She noticed that his gun was in his hand. She still didn't like to draw her weapon, unless she had no other choice.

The door of the cabin opened slowly, and a man's face appeared, the frightened face of the hit man. After a cursory look around, Roscoe stepped outside, pistol in hand.

Lee holstered his gun and put his hand on Amanda's arm. "Wait here," he whispered.

As soon as Roscoe turned away from them, Lee stood and in two strides reached his quarry, disarming him and knocking him to the ground. He rolled the man over and hit him in the jaw. Roscoe flailed about, not landing any serious blows. But Lee took advantage of this show of resistance, and battered the man into near unconsciousness. "That's for Jack!" he yelled.

Amanda rushed over to them and placed a gentle hand on Lee's shoulder. "Lee, sweetheart, that's enough." She spoke softly to her husband, knowing the guilt he felt over Dobkins' death. "You've got him. It's over."

"Yeah. You're right," he conceded, somewhat out of breath. "It's over."

--

Agent Howell conducted the interrogation, with Lee leaning against the wall, glaring at Ainsley the whole time. When confronted with the evidence gather by the Virginia authorities, Roscoe felt it prudent to cooperate.

"Who hired you?" Howell demanded.

"A guy named Barton, Thomas Barton. He's a big shot in some kind of farm company."

It didn't take long to get the warrant to arrest Tom Barton.

After U.S Customs agents finished searching the Arctic Queen and checking the paperwork and licenses for the cargo, there was no problem in getting a warrant for the arrest of Roger Culver, either.

"Do you and Amanda want to go along with Howell and Brownell to arrest Barton?"

"No," a suddenly exhausted Lee responded. "I'm . . . . " He looked at Amanda. "We're satisfied that Barton's goin' down."

"Right. And I think I'd better call my mother, Sir."

"Good plan. And, good job, you two."

--

TAG

After a short and unpleasant conversation with a tearful, unhappy and unreasonable Dotty, the Stetsons were driving from the office to Amanda's home in Arlington. The silence in the car was becoming a little uncomfortable.

Finally:

"Lee" "Amanda" They started together. "Go head." "You . . . " They both laughed.

"Okay," Amanda, started. "After what just happened . . . I, I want to tell Mother and the boys that we're married and I want to tell my mother about our jobs, at least as much as she needs to know--you know. I want us to live together as man and wife and not take a chance on anything happening before . . . ."

"I feel the same way and I was going to suggest the same thing. I'm tired of this stupid mystery marriage. And I'm not really sure if it's a _mystery_ to anybody, anyway. Heck, I think every bad guy in town knows -- if not that we're married -- at least that we're more than just business associates. A lot more." He reached over and took her hand.

"Oh good. Funny isn't it? We both thought of the very same thing., at the very same time--again. Well, great minds . . . "

"Make one helluva great team." Lee finished.

"Exactly!"

end


End file.
